Your life in Intercourse, CT, was a fairly interesting one. Your parents held you and your sister to a very strict moral code, one based not on peace but on retribution. Your family's moral code was derived from your heritage-- you were the descendants of Roland, chief paladin of Charlemagne. His bloody greatsword, Durandal, had been in your family for generations, and was your family's prize possession.
When you were three years old, your family was struck by a horrible tragedy. In the middle of the night, someone broke into your home, and in the morning your mother was gone. No one even noticed through their tears that Durandal was missing as well. You barely remembered your mother for most of your life... your sister, two years older, was somewhat better.
Your father, suddenly alone, began to work even harder. You saw him less and less, and you and your sister were raised largely by a string of nannies and babysitters. As a result of this, however, you became richer and richer, eventually moving to a very nice upscale neighborhood. In school, you were always getting in trouble. You let no injustice go unpunished, no bully go unpunched, no evildoer go unsmashed. You became essentially a vigilante, earning yourself the title of "Juggernaut."
When you were fifteen... there had been rumors of late of a strange woman around your neighborhood. There had been several violent murders in recent weeks, and all were attributed to her. Only the richest, most extravagant homes had been struck, so you seemed safe for the moment. The most chilling thing, though, was that every last person in each house had been brutally murdered. There had been barely enough left of the bodies to identify.
Your father was away on business, as usual. Your sister's boyfriend was sleeping over, in her room. In the middle of the night, you awoke to a horrible scream. A scream ending in a pained gurgle. Followed by a rising second scream, a female scream, the voice of your sister. You went running to her room and saw the door hanging open. You hesitated a moment, then ran for the door and looked inside--
You had seen blood before.
You had spilled blood before.
But not like this. Nothing like this.
Your sister's boyfriend--or what was left of him--was splattered all over the room. The once-white walls glistened a horrible sticky red. Bits of bone stuck to various points. You gagged, doubled over, and nearly vomited. Your sister was kneeling in the center of the room, her back to you. Above her stood a crazed madwoman, holding a strange sword aloft. Woman and sword both seemed horribly familiar. Your sister stopped screaming, and spoke through her tears. A single word.
The sword came down. As it did you saw clearly for the first time. The sword glowed with black fire, and there was a shadow behind your mother. A shadow distinctly separate from your mother. You watched, paralyzed with fear, as the blade cut through flesh, bone, and a bond. A unique bond, a powerful bond, a bond of love and care and motherhood. You could see the energy of the bond flow down the sword into the shadow, which was drinking it in, suddenly become much more solid.
You saw the recognition flow back into your mother's eyes. She saw her daughter's head hit the floor. She barely felt as the sword in her hand drifted through her hands to its rightful owner. Her finals words were confusion: "What?" And then the blade cut her down too. She fell quietly atop her daughter's headless corpse.
Your paralysis was broken. You leapt up, feeling a shining sword materialize in your hand. You crashed through the door, screaming with rage and sorrow. The shadow stood there, wreathed in darkness, blade at its side, a mocking smile on its face. You swung with all your strength, feeling a shock run up your arms as he casually lifted Durandal to catch your sword. Three more clashes rung out as you attacked again and again. You yelled again and pressed your attack. The two blades met again, black and white, light and dark, and when they did, you lifted your foot and brought it down on the shadow's hand. It grunted in pain and let its guard down for a moment. And that was all you needed. You slid your blade round his, drawing it across his chest and back. It clutched at its chest in pain and drifted half a step back, his sword going back through yours. He glared at you before the shadows rose up around him and then faded away.
Leaving you alone in the room with the remains of your family.
You fell to the ground, letting the tears wash the blood off your face.
Zahir came to you the next week, to take you to the school. You've been there over a year, and are doing better. You've become good friends with Isonade, and are a good student. You have developed an oath, the Oath of Calm. In return for giving up the ability to get angry normally, you have the ability to rage. When you are really provoked, you can enter a sort of berserker rage. For about ten seconds, nothing affects you. However, once those ten seconds are up, everything you were hit with hits you at once.